


another evening to show

by rusesdeguerre



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: F/M, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-20
Updated: 2020-02-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 12:51:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22811032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rusesdeguerre/pseuds/rusesdeguerre
Summary: Patty’s not like any girl Travis has met, which—doesn’t sound right when he says it like that.
Relationships: Travis Konecny/Nolan Patrick
Comments: 24
Kudos: 337





	another evening to show

Travis wouldn’t be able to tell you the exact details of his first meeting with Nolan no matter how many times G likes to bring it up at team parties to embarrass him, partly because it’s super humiliating and Travis has spent the last couple of years trying to suppress those memories as far deep into himself as he possibly can, and partly because all he can remember is thinking that Nolan was the prettiest girl he’s met in his life. That part is hard to _ not _remember. He’d never tell Nolan that because she’d probably go bright red and pummel him into the boards and refuse to talk to him for a couple of days, but it’s true. 

He remembers that Nolan was still wearing her hair long back when she first came to training camp and it was pulled back in a braid, loose and soft and coming apart at the ends where she kept fiddling with the elastic. He’d walked into the locker room, taken one look at Nolan sitting in the stall beside Coots, talking about fucking Manitoba or something, and had promptly tripped over his feet and crashed headfirst into the garbage can in the corner of the room. He vaguely remembers G sighing deeply and saying something like, “Yeah, if TK can make it on the team, any of you can,” and Coots sarcastically applauding, but really, all he was focussed on was the stupid smirk on Nolan’s face, like she wanted to laugh but she was trying hard not to because she didn’t know her place in the locker room well enough yet. She had introduced herself afterwards in that low and mumble-y voice, plucking on the elastic on her wrist and actively not making eye contact with Travis, and told him to call her Patty or Pats or whatever, and then proceeded to destroy everyone at practice. 

It was just—a lot to handle. 

By the end of training camp, Travis was probably already in love. Not that he’s keeping track or anything. He’s just not great at doing things in moderation. 

__________

Patty’s not like any girl Travis has met, which—doesn’t sound right when he says it like that. 

If Patty could magically turn herself into the most nondescript girl she could, she probably would; Travis knows how much she hates the constant attention of being a woman in the NHL, hates being asked about things none of the other guys would ever be asked, hates the teasing about her rosy cheeks, hates being different. Travis just means that being with Patty is so easy, like they’re extensions of each other, and he never has to stop himself from saying something stupid or talking too loudly. They know each other without having to say anything, they’re on the exact same wavelength, and around Patty, Travis never feels that constant need to censor himself, that constant watchfulness and vigilance to be someone who he isn’t. And he doesn’t want to presume, but he likes to think that it’s the same for Patty. 

__________

Patty is really good at a lot of things. Hockey, for one. Duh. She can make a mean mushroom risotto that managed to impress even G. The most Travis has ever impressed G was when he lost his tie somewhere between Philly and New Jersey and managed to convince a guy on the street to give him his for $50. Patty can also put her hair in a braid in twelve seconds flat, which—what. That shouldn’t be possible. There’s just _ so _much hair to braid. 

However, to the surprise of absolutely nobody, Patty cannot handle children. 

The Flyers host their annual event for season ticket holders sometime in November. Travis tried to convince G to let him and Patty run the gambling table for the adults but G just snorted and put them down for “Board Games and Bracelet-Making For Ages 7 and Under.” Which was fine with Travis; he likes board games and he likes to think the seven-year-olds kind of see him as one of them. He’s never made bracelets before, but it’s probably fun enough. 

Patty, though—

“Pats,” Sanny says, horrified. “You can’t say that to small children.” 

“Why not?” Patty splutters. “He asked what was the worst thing that could happen if he stopped playing hockey and I said he could die. Is that—not right?” 

“Yeah, but you can’t _ say _that,” Sanny explains. “He’s like, five years old. That’s not old enough to start thinking about death. When did you start thinking about death?” 

“Pats came out of the womb thinking about death,” Travis says and Sanny makes a considering noise. “You’re gonna get a biased answer if you ask her.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Patty mutters and sits down on a stool that is way too small for her. “Kids are dumb anyway.” 

“Pats!” Sanny smacks her. “Again, you can’t say that!” He gestures broadly at the rest of the room. “Kids!” 

Patty buries her face in her hands and groans. She’s wearing her hair down today and it’s all wavy and shiny and silky and Travis wants to run his hands through it. Like, he uses conditioner and shit, but his hair doesn’t look like that. Travis sits down on the stool beside Patty and when Travis glances over at her, he can see the flush peeking through her fingers and he has to bite down on a smile so he doesn’t say something regrettable like _ hey I think you’re the cutest fucking person ever, you wanna go make out somewhere? _

He leans over the table and grabs some string and beads. “Pats,” he coaxes her out of her hands, “c’mon, it’s okay. You wanna make some friendship bracelets?” 

“No,” Patty says. 

Travis rolls his eyes. Patty’s so fucking dramatic sometimes. He cuts a piece of string and throws it in Patty’s face. “Make me a friendship bracelet,” he demands and Patty grumbles about it, but she starts rummaging through the collection of beads and obliges Travis out of the goodness of her heart or whatever. 

Travis is debating between making a Flyers-themed black and orange bracelet or cramming as many colours as he can into his bracelet when a girl sidles up beside Patty holding up an elastic. He feels Patty stiffen beside him. 

“Hi,” the girl says. 

“Hi,” Patty says back, way too suspiciously, and Travis has to choke down a laugh. 

“I’m Maddy,” the girl says. 

“Oh.” Patty hesitates and shoots a _ help me _look at Travis. He shrugs. “I’m Patty,” she says finally. “My sister’s name is Maddy too.” 

Maddy grins up at Patty real big. She’s missing her two front teeth. It’s cute as hell and Travis almost feels Patty melt. Pats can pretend to be a stoic bitch all she wants, but Travis knows that she’s a total softie. “Can you show me how to braid my hair?” she asks. “I watch you on our TV and you always have it in a braid.” Maddy waves her elastic in Patty’s face. 

“Uh,” Patty coughs and takes the elastic from her. “Sure, bud—I mean, Maddy. Sure, Maddy. It’s not that hard. You just need to like, practise a bit.” She sections off her own hair and divides it into three parts and starts showing Maddy how to cross each section over the other. When Maddy looks like she’s got the hang of it, Patty turns her around and braids Maddy’s hair, ties it with the elastic, and adds a Flyers ribbon at the end.

“I’m so proud of her,” Sanny whispers from beside Travis. “She didn’t even say anything about dying.” 

Patty shoots a withering look at the two of them and flips them off when Maddy swivels her head to look in the other direction. Travis retrieves a puck from the bag that the media communications folks made them each carry around and hands it over to Patty. She signs it and places it gently into Maddy’s hands. 

“That wasn’t so bad, eh?” Travis says when Maddy leaves, beaming from ear to ear and shaking her head around to swish her braid. 

The fond smile on Patty’s face immediately turns back into a scowl. “Shut up.” 

Sanny gives her a thumbs-up and Patty looks like she’d rather get traded to the Penguins than deal with the two of them for a second longer. 

“Here,” Travis says and holds up the bracelet he finished in the time it took Patty to braid Maddy’s hair. “Made you a friendship bracelet.” 

“Why is it in Penguins’ colours?” Patty asks disdainfully, glaring at the black and gold beads. 

“It was the closest I could get to the Flyers' colours,” Travis whines. “Could you be more supportive?” 

Patty rolls her eyes and grabs the bracelet from Travis and ties it around her wrist. She shakes it in Travis’ face. “Supportive enough for you?” 

Travis grins. “Yeah. Why the hell are you wearing a bracelet with the Penguins’ colour though?” 

Patty lets out a very threatening, strangled noise and tackles Travis off his chair. Sanny yelps out in surprise when the two of them go tumbling to the floor. 

“What the fu—fudge!” Sanny shouts. The kids around them start cheering, like the tiny little goblin assholes they are. 

Travis spits out Patty’s hair from his mouth and can’t help but look up fondly at Patty’s face hovering in front of his, all red and blotchy and like the best thing Travis has ever seen. 

__________

They play against the Rangers at home on a Wednesday night and it’s going pretty okay until the third period. They’re up 3–1 and they probably could be up by more, but they’re playing on a back-to-back and Travis can barely feel his legs, so he’ll take what he can get. 

At some point, halfway through the third, Travis is catching his breath on the bench and leaning around G to shout at Riems to rim the puck across the boards next time, so he doesn’t see it when it happens on the ice. All he knows is that one moment Patty’s line is out there in the offensive zone and the next moment, Patty’s got a Rangers player pinned to the boards and she’s yelling indistinctly. 

“Oh, fuck,” he hears G mutter from beside him. 

“What happened?” he demands, but nobody says anything. “What the fuck?” 

The ref blows his whistle furiously and manages to separate the two of them and as Patty skates towards the bench, Travis can see a cut bleeding high up on her cheek, like a stick had caught her there. 

“Pats,” Travis says when she slides onto the bench beside him, “what was that?” 

“Fuckin’ DeAngelo,” she spits out, vicious and seething. Travis has never seen Patty like this: Patty’s always the calmest one on the bench, often not because she wants to, Travis knows, but because she has to. Because the media will start pressing and asking her if she thinks that women are too emotional for hockey if she loses her cool, as if they haven’t seen Jaime Benn go through three sticks a game, as if G doesn’t blow a fuse yelling at a ref everytime they play against Pittsburgh. Sometimes, Travis can feel the anger in Patty boiling underneath the surface, simmering low and slow, like one wrong move and the seam that’s precariously holding everything inside would rip wide open. 

“He say something?” Travis asks, and scans the other bench for DeAngelo’s face, calculates how soon he can get out on the ice with him. 

“Grabbed my hair,” Patty says, and—

Travis turns to face her and Patty looks almost on the verge of tears, she’s so frustrated, and Travis takes a deep breath, wills himself to keep it together and to not lose it. 

“Pats,” he says and presses their helmets together. “Fuck that asshole, yeah? He’s a piece of shit, he can barely make a fuckin’ pass.” 

“I know,” Patty grits out, “I know. Sorry, fuck, I’m just—” 

“No, don’t fuckin’ apologize,” Travis snaps. “That’s—that’s not. Pats, look. Eight minutes left.” 

Patty lets out a shaky breath. Lets out another. Nods. “Yeah. Yeah, eight minutes left.” AV taps him on his shoulder so Travis gives her a tap on the helmet and lets her go to hop over the boards. 

AV puts Patty’s line out there the next shift and Patty takes the face-off against Strome. Travis sees Strome’s mouth moving, but Patty doesn’t look angry until DeAngelo shouts “pussy!” from behind Strome and then Patty’s got her lips curled back in a snarl, her teeth bared like she’s hungry to kill. 

“Should be a game misconduct,” G says disgustedly from beside him. 

The ref drops the puck and Patty wins the face-off. She drops it back to Riems and then takes off down the ice with Raffs, shouldering past DeAngelo. She calls for the puck and Riems makes a beautiful stretch pass to where Patty’s waiting by the blue line. It’s a 2-on-1; Patty passes it once to Raffs and when Raffs puts it back on Patty’s stick, Lundqvist doesn’t stand a chance. She makes the shot on her backhand, almost standing on the goal line, short-side, right between the post and Lundqvist’s shoulder. It’s the filthiest goal Travis has seen all year; the stadium explodes. 

Travis meets Patty’s eyes from where she’s still celebrating on the ice and grins at her. He doesn’t even know where DeAngelo is, doesn’t care at all. Patty smiles back, the one that’s smug and pleased, like she’s hot shit and she knows it, and it’s pretty ridiculous how much Travis wants to kiss her right there on the ice in the middle of the Farg in front of everyone. 

__________

_ can you come over_, Patty texts him when Travis gets back to his apartment after the game. Travis glances down at his phone and then at the time and then goes to put his shoes back on. _ be there in 5_, he texts back. 

When he lets himself into Patty’s apartment, he sees G’s shoes already in the doorway and hears muffled talking coming from the bathroom down the hall. He frowns and quickly slides his shoes off. 

“Hey, I’m coming in,” he says and pushes the bathroom door open. Patty’s sitting on a stool in front of the mirror, one hand holding her hair back in a ponytail. G’s standing behind her with a pair of kitchen scissors and an irate expression on his face. 

“Thanks for knocking,” Patty says wryly. 

“No problem,” Travis responds automatically. “What’s going on?” 

Patty sighs and lets her hair fall out of the ponytail. “I wanna cut my hair.” 

Travis blinks. “Because of—” 

“No,” Patty says. “Well, kind of. But not just because. Of DeAngelo, I mean.” 

“Right,” Travis says. 

G says, “You don’t need to accommodate your life for them.” 

“I know,” Patty snaps and a sliver of annoyance filters through her voice. “I’ve been living this life since I was five, of course I know.” 

Travis winces and G puts down the pair of scissors on the counter. “That’s not what I meant,” he says.

Patty softens her voice. “G, I’m tired of it. I—just want it to stop happening. And it’s not gonna stop happening unless I get rid of my hair.” She meets Travis’ eyes in the mirror, dark and inscrutable, and Travis holds her gaze. He wishes he could shift the universe for her, just a little bit, so she didn’t have to sit here in her bathroom at midnight convincing G to cut her hair for her while Tony fucking DeAngelo goes home and worries about absolutely nothing. 

“I can cut it,” he hears himself saying and—yeah, he can. He can cut it. He can’t go to New York and find DeAngelo and make him understand what a piece of shit he is but he can cut Patty’s hair for her. He holds out a hand. G eyes him for a second before sighing and giving him the pair of scissors. 

G places a hand on Patty’s shoulder and says, “I’m proud of you, kiddo. You know that, yeah?” 

“Jesus,” Patty says, “don’t strain yourself doing that, G.” 

Travis leans down and presses a kiss on the top of Patty’s head. “Okay, Pats,” he says, “you ready?” 

“Yeah,” Patty says. “Do it.” 

They don’t talk while Travis cuts haphazardly at Patty’s hair. G leans against the bathroom counter and watches the locks of Patty’s hair fall onto her bathroom floor in silence. 

“That’s good,” Patty finally says, her voice hoarse, when Travis reaches just below her ears. She shakes her hair out and then stares at herself in the mirror. It—it looks good, Travis thinks, but Patty always looks good. He’s not sure how much of it can be attributed to the new haircut. She gives him a wobbly smile in the mirror. “I like it,” she says quietly. 

G makes an agreeing sound. 

Patty runs a hand through her hair, flipping it from side to side, and Travis’ gaze catches on a gold-and-black something on her wrist; it’s the friendship bracelet that Travis made for her from that event last week. Before he can even think about what he’s doing, he reaches over and grabs her wrist and slides a finger underneath the bracelet. 

“You kept it?” he asks. 

“Obviously,” Patty says dryly. She looks up at him through her eyelashes, her newly-cut hair in disarray on her head, and Travis feels his mouth dry up. 

He hears G shifting on his feet from behind him and he roughly lets go of Patty’s wrist. He coughs. Averts his gaze. “I like it too,” he mumbles. “Your hair. It looks good.” 

“You better,” Patty says. “You cut it, asshole.” 

“You think I could be a hairdresser?” 

“No,” G interjects before Patty can say anything. “God bless your soul, Pats, but I would not have let TK anywhere near me with a pair of scissors.” 

__________

One of the beat reporters asks Patty if the comments from Tony DeAngelo the previous night had anything to do with the haircut. Patty looks straight forward, fixing her gaze on a spot on the wall in front of her, and says flatly, “No.” 

Travis doesn’t even bother to hide his laugh and it’s worth it because Patty looks over at him from the middle of her scrum, surprised, and laughs with him. 

They play against Columbus the next night, the second game in a five-game home stand, and Patty gets two goals in the first fifteen minutes of the game. G scores one in the beginning of the second and Kevin fires one from the point that Travis tips in. They chase Merzlikins out of the net and Kivlenieks comes in for relief. They cruise through the third period and when Columbus pulls their goalie in the last minute, AV puts Travis out there with Patty and G. 

“Listen,” G says, panting, “I’m gonna win this face-off and you run back with it, and I’ll tell Patty to get down the ice. Provy’ll draw their D back.” 

“Hatty for Patty,” Travis says, grinning, and G snorts but grins back. 

G barely wins the draw and Travis has to get in there to fight for the puck. By the time he comes out from the board battle, Patty’s already halfway down the ice and he really has to haul ass to peel away from Werenski and pass the puck up to Patty. She gets the empty-netter, obviously, and Travis is already crashing into her before she can even put her arms up to celebrate. Patty laughs and picks him up, spinning around until he gets dizzy and has to gently tap Patty’s helmet to get her to stop. The rest of the team comes hopping over the boards to pile up on them, the hats raining down around them and the crowd already chanting Patty’s name. 

“Philly loves you,” Travis tells her when they get back to the bench and gestures at the stands in awe. He can make out a sign in one of the last rows that says PATTY: GF AND I TRAVELLED 7 HOURS TO SEE YOU surrounded by print-outs of Patty’s face in hearts. “They love you. They love you so fuckin’ much.” 

In her post-game scrum, one of the beat reporters asks if the comments from Tony DeAngelo the previous night had anything to do with her game out on the ice tonight and Patty stares at the reporter right in the eye and says, “No,” and then, “but DeAngelo should make some more comments next time and see what happens.” 

Nobody asks about Tony DeAngelo after that. 

__________

So, like, the problem with the whole being-in-love-with-Patty situation is that sometimes he doesn’t know how to handle himself when he sees Patty with other people. He’s trying to deal with it, he really is, because it’s not like he and Patty are… anything, really. Like, friends, obviously, but not anything beyond that. And Travis is cool with that; he just needs to get better at not looking miserable when a tall dude in a flannel and tight jeans comes up to Patty at the bar and starts flirting with her. 

“Dude,” Sanny says. When Travis turns to look at him, he raises an eyebrow in Patty’s direction pointedly and Travis groans and drops his head on the table. “You could at least _ try _to make it less obvious.” 

“I can’t,” Travis says, his voice coming out muffled. “It’s useless. I’m useless.” 

“Don’t say that,” Sanny admonishes. “You’re not useless—” 

“Thanks.” 

“—at least, not completely useless.” Sanny thinks for a moment. “Like that time you helped me put together my Ikea bed! I couldn’t have done that without you.”

“Sanny,” Travis moans. 

“Do you want another beer?” he asks. 

“No,” Travis says. 

“Okay,” Sanny says, “I’m gonna get you another beer. Sit tight, buddy.” He slides out of the booth, gives Travis a condescending little pat on the head, and makes his way to the bar to get Travis a beer that he does not particularly want. 

Travis sighs again. He turns his head over in his arms and peeks out through his elbow at where he knows Patty is at the bar. Flannel and Tight Jeans is still there beside her, even closer than before. He’s got one huge hand on her elbow and not to be dramatic or anything, but Travis kind of wants to douse himself in gasoline and set himself on fire, it might be less painful. Flannel and Tight Jeans leans right into Patty’s space and Patty isn’t moving away or anything, just looking at him a little bit amused, a little bit like she’s trying to guess what he’s going to do next. 

God, fuck that guy, Travis thinks, turning away. He looks like he unironically recommends podcasts about self-betterment and self-improvement to his friends and eats only grass-fed meat and offers to spot people at the gym without them asking. 

(Travis could totally do all of that if Patty wanted him to. He could probably do a lot of things if Patty wanted him to.)

“Here you go, buddy,” Sanny says, sliding a bottle of beer towards him. “How are you holding up?”

Travis stares glumly at the condensation on his beer bottle. “Do you think I’ve got a chance here?” he asks. 

“Like, with Pats?” 

“Duh.” 

Sanny shrugs. “Sure,” he says. “You’d be good together.” 

“But—” Travis breaks off and gestures towards the scene at the bar. Flannel and Tight Jeans is practically fucking Patty with his eyes and it’s making Travis want to die, to say the least. “Look at him, Sanny. He looks like he could eat me for breakfast.” 

Sanny flicks Travis’ forehead and scoffs. “Anyone could eat you for breakfast. Fuck that dude, man. Does he look like he could put together an Ikea bed? Look at those huge stone hands. No way.” 

“Patty doesn’t need someone to put together an Ikea bed for her,” Travis says. “She can do that herself.” 

“Patty doesn’t need anyone, dumbass,” Sanny says, “but if there’s anyone she wants, it’s you.” 

“Why hasn’t she said anything then?” Travis whines. 

Sanny lets out a groan. “TK. Teeks, use your tiny fuckin’ bird brain for one second. She’s the only girl on this team. She already gets shit from everyone about being a girl in the NHL. Imagine that. Are you imagining it?” he demands and Travis nods mutely. “Okay, good. Would you risk your entire fucking career to ask out a teammate?” 

“No,” Travis admits, “I wouldn’t.” 

He realises he’s never thought about what Patty probably had to go through on every single new team she played for. He remembers how awkward she was those first couple of days on the Flyers, like she didn’t know what to do with her hands and who to talk to and what things were okay to say. What things she could ask for and what things she just had to accept. How much space she was allowed to take up. G must’ve eventually said something because it got better and Patty stopped shoving her hands in her pockets whenever someone teased her and everyone found out that she could chirp right along with the best of them. Still, Travis never had to go through any of that, ever. He glances over at the bar to where Patty is still talking to Flannel and Tight Jeans. She’s doing the thing where she scratches the back of her neck when she doesn’t know what to say; she used to tug nervously at the ends of her hair, but now her hair isn’t long enough to do that. 

“I guess you’re right,” he says to Sanny. “He looks like a cool guy, I suppose.” 

Sanny squints at him. “Who? Flannel Dude?” 

“Yeah,” Travis says. “Patty could do worse.” 

“I meant—” Sanny breaks off. “You know what? It’s fine, whatever. I’m not G. You can go deal with your own problems.” And then he plucks Travis’ beer bottle from his hand and downs half of it in one go and leaves Travis to wallow in his sadness at the table by himself. Fucking Sanny. 

__________

The next day at practice, Patty comes in with a bruise on her neck and three red scratch marks on her back. The locker room is eerily quiet; this is the first time Patty has come into the locker room with physical evidence of a hook-up and nobody on this godforsaken team has enough emotional intelligence to know how to react. Travis is seriously considering maybe creating a DIY firecracker and setting it off in the middle of the locker room to break this unbearable silence when Jake snorts and lets out a whoop and clasps Patty on the shoulder to congratulate her. Travis sees the tension in Patty’s shoulder ease off. 

G ruffles her hair and then shakes her hand. “Congrats, Pats. We’ll let this time go, because it’s your first time, but the next time you come into the locker room with a hickey, that’s twenty bucks into the jar. Be safe, kiddo. Have fun but remember: no face in any nudes,” he says to her. The look on Patty’s face is incredible. “If anything happens, ever, call me first and then Jake and then Coots. Do _ not _call TK, he’s useless in a crisis.” And then he ambles over to where his stall is to finish tying his skates. 

Travis glances up at Patty curiously. She looks—not like she got laid tonight. Not like, sad or anything, but a little too commiserating for what Travis could see Flannel and Tight Jeans was packing. Those jeans did not hide anything. Travis swallows whatever pride he was holding in his mouth, plants a smile on his face, and elbows her in the ribs. “Good night, eh?” he asks and waggles his eyebrows. 

Patty shrugs. “It was okay,” she says. She sits down heavily in her stall and Travis sits down beside her, frowning. 

“Hey,” he says. “Don’t listen to G. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You don’t need to put in twenty bucks in the jar, I haven’t been putting jack shit in the jar since my rookie season. You can do whatever.” 

“No,” Patty says. “It’s not that. I don’t mind. That’s—kinda nice, actually. I… I don’t know. Kinda feel like I’m missing something here.” 

“What?” Travis says loudly and Coots looks over curiously. He makes a face at him and Coots rolls his eyes, but turns away. Travis lowers his voice and says, “Like, with sex?” 

Patty bites down on her lip and says, “Yeah. I mean, it’s whatever. Maybe—maybe, well. It doesn’t matter.” 

“Pats,” Travis says. He ducks his head so he’s tucked in beside Patty and his hair is brushing against her face. “‘Course it matters. It’s not nothing. Can’t talk about it here, though, with these assholes. Come over after practice?” 

Patty nods. “Yeah. Okay, Teeks. You want me to bring beer over or something?” 

“Obviously,” he says. 

__________

What ends up happening when Patty comes over is that they don’t talk about Patty’s sex life and instead, they get drunk and start their fifth re-watch of the fourth season of Game of Thrones which is, in their infallible opinion, the best season.

It’s nearing midnight and Patty is lying face down on the floor and Travis is hanging upside down on his couch watching Littlefinger doing Littlefinger things (i.e. pushing Sansa’s aunt through the moon door) when he remembers why he invited Patty over in the first place. He flips his legs down and shifts himself so that he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch.

“So,” he slurs, still drunk. “Sex.” 

“Hmm,” Patty says. “Must be nice.” 

“Sure is,” Travis agrees, and then his brain catches up to him. “Wait. What does _ that _mean?” 

“What?” 

“What.” 

Patty groans and turns over. She folds her hands over her stomach and fiddles with her thumbs for a while. Travis watches a strand of hair sway back and forth as Patty inhales and exhales. “I’ve never had sex,” she mumbles finally. 

Travis slides down from the couch to join Patty on the ground. He puts a hand over her bare knee. Patty’s got weird knees; they’re red and knobbly and the left one is abnormally wrinkly. Travis is kind of in love with Patty and her weird knees, God help him. “Really?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Patty exhales. “High school was not. Good for me. And then there was hockey. And hockey was always more important.” 

“What about the guy from last night?” 

Patty turns her head to look at Travis. She blinks slowly and says, “Didn’t fuck him.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

Travis lies down beside Patty. He flicks a strand of hair away from her face. “Did you want to fuck him?” 

Patty shrugs. “Not really.” 

“No one in juniors?” 

She wrinkles her nose. “No one important. I’ve never—really dated anyone, I guess. And I’m not good at making conservation and hooking up. So. There hasn’t been anyone.” 

“It’s not a big deal, Pats,” Travis says. “If you were thinking it was.” 

“I mean. Everyone just—kind of assumes. Which is fine. It’s better than me needing to talk about it. But I figured I was just… doing something wrong if everyone else is out getting laid and I’m not.” 

Travis looks Patty in the eye and furrows his eyebrows. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Pats.” 

Patty rolls her eyes. “Yeah, I know _ now_—” 

“Seriously, Pats. You’re… perfect, bud. You don’t need to be like, having sex or whatever. You could totally do better than Flannel and Tight Jeans anyway.” 

Patty lets out a laugh. “Is that the guy from last night?” When Travis nods, Patty laughs again and Travis finds himself smiling along with her. He’s always working for that, he thinks, always working for that laugh. “His pants were pretty tight, huh?” Patty says. 

“Oh, buddy,” he says, “so tight.” 

“Didn’t know you were looking at his jeans,” Patty teases and Travis flushes, stumbles over his words as he tries to explain himself. 

__________

Patty passes out on the couch and then stumbles home, hungover and half-asleep, the next morning. Travis drags himself to morning practice and then drives back home to go right back to bed. He tries really hard to go back to sleep but his brain keeps circling back to Patty’s little frown when she said _ I’ve never had sex _ and then when she said _ I’ve never really dated anyone. _Travis can’t stop thinking about it, and not in a normal definitely-just-friends way either, which is probably a good sign that he should stop thinking about it. 

He does not stop thinking about it. 

Travis huffs and flips over in bed and glares at the power outlet on the wall beside his bed. 

It’s not like Patty doesn’t have options, right? Obviously. Exhibit A: Flannel and Tight Jeans. 

And, like. She was the prettiest girl Travis had seen in his life that first day of training camp and she’s still the prettiest girl Travis has seen in his life. (Sue him, he’s got eyes, okay?)

Not to exaggerate or anything, but Patty is like, kind of the greatest? Travis likes that he and Patty can match each other, stride for stride, in anything and everything—for every mile Travis runs, Patty runs half a mile more; every goal Travis scores, Patty scores one more; every chirp Travis throws at G, Patty throws a more devastating one. He likes how Patty shows him all the parts of her that nobody in the league would ever get to see, the good parts, and the bad and ugly parts, like how she hates losing more than she likes winning, how she’s got crescent-shaped scars on her palms from when she’d dig her fingernails into her hands to stop herself from punching a reporter for asking a stupid question, how she’s better at making friends with dudes than she is with girls and how she hates that, how she probably has a burn book hidden somewhere because she’s almost as petty and spiteful as Coots is, which is saying something. Patty is tireless, in the person she is and in the things she does, always the first one on the rink and the last one to leave. 

Fuck Crosby, he doesn’t have shit on Patty. 

Sometimes, Travis gets so angry on Patty’s behalf, which just makes Patty even angrier. 

“I don’t fucking need you to fight my fights for me!” she had yelled in his face once when he had gotten into a fight with some fourth-liner on the Sabres after he laid Patty out along the boards. 

“Fuck you,” he had spit out. “Someone needs to do something and it’s not the ref and it’s not _ you _and it’s—” 

“Do you think I don’t _ want to fight him_?” she had shouted and that had made the words catch in Travis’ throat. “It’s not that fucking simple,” she had continued, oblivious to the revelation happening in Travis’ brain, “I fight him, I get called emotional. You fight him for me, I get called weak. It’s better to not give them anything.” 

Travis had swallowed roughly and said, “Okay, Pats. I’m sorry.” 

And maybe Travis likes that about Patty, too. That she knows when to choose her battles, like Travis never does, and that she knows who she is, and she’s never bent to fit someone else’s mold for her, and that she’s never ever going to. She’s one of the most resolute, unshakable, and steadfast absolutes in an industry that has very few of those. 

The clock in Travis’ bedroom keeps ticking, the minute hand making a full circle. Travis buries his face in his pillow and lets out a garbled scream. 

__________

G likes to do this captain-responsibility thing where he takes a couple of teammates out for dinner, at some real expensive place in South Philly, buy a nice bottle of wine and pay for dessert and act like he’s just a real nice guy trying to spend some quality time with his friends, so just when you think you’re in the clear, he’ll start pulling out screenshots on his phone of stupid shit you texted him when you were drunk like, three months ago—stuff like “how to buy bananas from costco” or “carter? sad face? FIX IT HOW” or “would giurlfrien be mad if i stole her lopstick”—and grill you on all the poor decisions you’ve ever made in your life. He’s pretty sure G made Kevin cry once, but he did also get to eat about $200 worth of sushi that G paid for, so. Travis would’ve taken that deal, is all he’s saying. 

Anyway, last week, G texted him to schedule one of these “just a friendly check-in!” dinners with him and Patty. Patty’s not busy ever and Travis is deep enough into his infatuation with Patty that he’ll make himself free for her. (He ends up cancelling a movie date Sanny and his girlfriend and receives a joint text message from the both of them that’s just a line of angry face emojis.) G texts them details a couple of days later, not even bothering to ask Travis or Patty their input on restaurants. He does message Travis privately and warn him that _ if you wear the weird pants, you’re paying for your own dinner. Please don’t wear the weird pants. _ When Travis asks why he can’t wear the weird pants when G let Kev wear the weird pants to dinner last time, G just texts him back a shrug emoji and _ I’ve given up trying with Kevin. _

Travis does end up wearing his weird pants—G can just deal with it. Travis doesn’t think they even warrant the “weird” label; Kevin once called them “almost as vanilla as Carter” and got forced into a wrestling match with Carter that Kev inevitably lost. 

Patty texts and asks if he needs a ride just as Travis is getting into his car in the parking garage. He considers just telling Patty he’s already on the way there but because Travis is desperate and also in love with Patty, he replies with _ yes please thank you _and proceeds to get out of his car and take the elevator back up to his apartment and pretend like he definitely did not already leave and sprint back up to catch a ride with Patty. 

He’s just managed to take off his jacket and is halfway through untying his shoes when Patty knocks at his door. “Fuck,” Travis mutters under his breath. He trots to the door wearing one shoe and swings it open to let Patty in and—

“Oh shit,” Travis blurts out and immediately feels himself flush. Patty always looks good because—duh, obviously, but this version of Patty standing in front of Travis’ gobsmacked face looks like she just walked off of a Vogue cover or some shit. She’s wearing heels—which, side note: ouch? Travis feels like feet are not just supposed to bend that way, but he’s also a bit of an idiot, so who’s to say really?—and striped pants and her legs look like they go on for miles.

Anyways. 

“Thanks,” Pats say dryly. “You look nice too.” 

“Oh—” Travis stammers and continues blushing like an idiot. “Thanks. You look—yeah, you look so good. I mean. Yeah.” That’s it, he’s never going to talk again. He’s going to take a vow of silence and ask the Flyers management if they can terminate his contract and let him escape to some cabin in rural Wisconsin to avoid any further human interaction. 

“Right,” Patty gives him a weird look. “Are you okay, dude? You look kinda shaky. I can text G and ask him to postpone this.” 

“No,” Travis says, a little too loudly. “I mean,” he lowers his voice when Patty’s eyebrows start to rise, “I’m good. Seriously.” 

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Are you gonna put on your other shoe or are you just gonna stand here with one shoe on?” 

Travis scowls and sulks over to put on his shoe. “Fuck off,” he says and resolutely ignores Patty’s snickering. In any case, they get to the restaurant late because Patty makes four wrong left turns and they end up on the other end of Philly, somewhere in Fairmount, and have to pull up Google Maps to figure out where the fuck they are. When Patty finally pulls up in the back alley parking lot of the restaurant, Travis’ phone is out of battery and they’re fifteen minutes late. 

“I’m driving next time,” Travis tells her as they walk into the restaurant. 

“Fuck you,” Patty says, way too loudly. One of the waiters turns to glare at each of them in turn before returning to the table he’s attending. “I hate you,” she mutters under her breath and Travis laughs. 

G still hasn’t arrived by the time they sit down at the table and is apparently not going to show up; Patty turns her phone to Travis to show him a text from G—_Baby crisis. Ry and I are talking Gav to the emergency room. Have fun with the reservation, please don’t do anything that would embarrass me. _

“D’you think Gav swallowed a chocolate wrapper again?” Travis asks, handing Patty’s phone back to her and thinking about the last time Ry and G had to take Gav to the emergency room. 

“Maybe,” Patty shrugs. “Maybe he’s moving on to greater things.” 

“Like what? Plastic forks?” 

“Sure. Lots of things babies could swallow. Coins. Turtles.” 

A waiter comes by to take their drink orders. Patty pulls a face because she doesn’t know anything about fancy wines and Travis definitely does not know anything about fancy wines either so they both order a ginger ale and giggle silently at each other when the waiter makes a big show of rolling his eyes. He drops off a couple of menus and goes to get their drinks. 

Patty grabs a menu, flips it open randomly, and kicks Travis under the table. 

Travis hisses, “What the fuck?” 

She leans in towards Travis and jerks her head to the left and says, “Those two guys over there. Blue shirt and pink striped shirt. Do we think they’re fucking or are they brothers?” 

Travis glances over and scoffs. “Brothers. Come on, they literally look like twins.” 

“No,” Patty disagrees, “they do not. They’ve got totally different faces! Just because they both have beards and short hair doesn’t mean they’re twins.” 

“It’s not just that,” he argues. “Their noses look the same.” 

“You’re literally wrong,” Patty says. “They’re fucking.” 

“Oh, okay.” Travis rolls his eyes. “Didn’t realize I was talking to someone who could read minds.” 

“Whatever,” Patty says, “you don’t need to be an asshole just because you’re obviously wrong.” 

Their argument gets derailed when their waiter comes back with their ginger ale and to take their orders. Patty orders some pasta and Travis absolutely has not even looked at the menu yet, so he picks the first thing he sees, which happens to be a very French dish involving a type of vegetable that he can barely pronounce and a sauce that he most definitely cannot pronounce. 

“Do you even know what you just ordered?” Patty asks. 

“Nope,” Travis says, cheerfully, and goes back to why blue shirt and pink striped shirt are brothers and not lovers. 

At some point during dinner when Patty chokes on a mushroom and has to gulp down half her glass of ginger ale to wash it down, Travis is struck by how much of a date this feels like. He resolutely does not say anything because Patty would totally freak out and never talk to him ever again, but he runs through his date checklist in his head and most of it checks out: nice suit (shut up about the pants), fancy reservations (thanks G), restaurant with an entire wine list (Christ, Travis needs to start learning about fancy wine), and with the girl of dreams (_shut up_). 

Patty lets him take some of her pasta and she eats half of Travis’ French vegetable dish which is surprisingly nice and not at all too French. They talk about hockey for a while and then about Patty’s sisters, one still back home in Winnipeg and one in B.C. doing university, and Travis tries to explain the plot of a movie he saw with Kevin and unsuccessfully attempts to convince Patty to watch the sequel when it comes out. (He’s _ not _angling for another date. Seriously, he’s not. This doesn’t even count as a date.) Patty shows him photos of the dogs from the adoption centre she’s thinking about adopting from next season and then scrolls through all the pissy-looking cats just for the fun of it. 

“You should adopt a cat,” Travis says. 

“I don’t want a cat.” 

“I think you’d get along with a cat.” In another life, Patty would’ve been a cat; they’re both emotionally-stunted creatures who cover up their affection and fondness for the people they love with disdain and scorn. 

On their way home, Travis makes Patty double-park by the convenience store at the red light they’re stopped at so he can run in and buy a can of beer for the ride home. They also pull up Google Maps, just in case. Travis is just finishing his beer when Patty pulls up in front of his apartment. She puts the car in park and glances over at Travis. “Wonder how Gav is doing,” she says. 

“He’s a trooper,” Travis replies. “He’ll be fine.” 

“Guess you gotta grow up fast when your dad is G,” Patty says. Travis smiles at her and she smiles back. 

“I—uh,” Travis says, feeling very awkward all of a sudden. “I had a good time.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Patty says. She rubs the back of her neck, like she’s trying to take up less space, like she’s trying to make herself smaller. Travis reaches over without thinking and pulls her arm down gently, his thumb bumping against the beaded bracelet she’s still wearing. She glances down at Travis’ hand and then back up at his face and Travis can’t get a read on her at all. 

“Pats,” he says. 

“Yeah?” she says and it comes out scratchy. 

Travis thinks about Patty saying _ I’m not good at making conversation _ and _ there hasn’t been anyone _ and _ kinda feel like I’m missing something _ and about Patty stumbling her way home with Flannel and Tight Jeans and whoever else in juniors and how he had just gone on a date with Patty. He thinks about Sanny asking if he’d risk the life he’s spent his life working towards if he were Patty and he thinks about him answering no. 

“Pats,” he says again, low and quiet. “I’m going—I’m going to try something and—uh, you don’t have to like it or anything.” 

She nods slowly. Her wrist is still in his hand, the beads of the bracelet pressing imprints into the palm of Travis’ hand. Travis lets out a long breath and leans in, as slowly as he can, watching if Patty leans away, if she flinches, and she doesn’t, so Travis closes his eyes and kisses her. It’s sweet, almost, as gentle as Travis can make it. Patty tastes like ginger ale and the tomato sauce from her pasta, and her lips are chapped and cracked. 

When he pulls away, Patty still hasn’t moved away. 

“Was that. Was that okay.” Travis coughs. 

“Are you—are you for real?” Patty asks, her eyes wide. 

“Yeah, Pats,” Travis says, laughs a little at how ridiculous that question sounds to him. “Real as you can get.” 

“I’ve—I mean, you know, I’ve never done anything—” 

Travis sighs and looks skyward and hopes he doesn’t get smacked for what he’s about to say. “Pats, it’s kinda hot, to be honest. Like, I don’t wanna sound possessive and gross, but.” 

“You don’t mind?” 

“No,” he says, “not at all.” 

Patty chews on her bottom lip and Travis has to sit on his hand to stop himself from reaching over to pull her lip out from between her teeth. “We’re like, not really. I mean.” She pauses and mulls over her words for a while. “We don’t look like that,” she finishes, and points out the car window at a blonde couple walking out the doors of Travis’ apartment. 

And—like, yeah. He guesses they don’t look like that. Patty’s four inches taller than him, more when she’s in heels, and Travis has been told on multiple occasions that he looks like a feral raccoon and Patty emphatically does not look like a feral raccoon. But— “Do you care?” he asks Patty. 

She shakes her head. 

“Me neither,” Travis says. “It’s just us, Pats. Who gives a shit about everyone else?” 

Patty takes a deep breath. “Yeah,” she says and laughs a bit. “We’ve always made it work, yeah?” 

“You know it,” Travis agrees. He gives her his best Flannel and Tight Jeans douchebag smile and jerks his thumb towards the apartment and says, “So. You wanna come up or something?” 

__________

They don’t have sex, which is maybe for the best considering how high-strung Travis already is, but Travis does get Patty in his bed, sprawled and laid out. She’s an entire vision. The blush comes out when Travis unbuckles her belt and it never leaves, creeping down her neck and her stomach and her thighs.

He presses a kiss on the inside of her knees, smiles against her skin when he hears her take in a shaky breath. Travis’ hands are shaking when he pulls off Patty’s shirt and undoes her bra clasp. He spends a good fifteen minutes kissing up and down her body, one of his hands holding onto hers the entire time. Eventually, he makes his way up to her face and—Patty looks broken, a little bit, her chest heaving and her eyes squeezed shut, like she’s trying to concentrate on not losing it. Travis almost feels like he shouldn’t be seeing this, like this is way too private for his eyes. 

“You okay?” he whispers into her mouth. 

“Fuck you,” Patty grits out, frustrated, and cracks one eye open angrily. She grips onto his hand even tighter and Travis can feel the circulation cutting off in his fingers. He grins—yeah, that’s the Patty he knows—and goes back to making out with her. Jesus, he’s already hard and he hasn’t even gotten his pants off. He’s never going to be able to wear these weird pants again. 

__________

Travis doesn’t leave any visible marks, but Patty puts twenty bucks into the jar the next morning at practice anyway. G visibly startles and shoots her quizzical look—Travis can see him working out the timeline in his head, calculating the probability that she hooked up with Travis and then the probability that Patty just ditched Travis to hook up with Flannel and Tight Jeans Version 2—but he stays silent anyway. 

Patty sits down in her stall beside Travis and puts a fist up. Travis fistbumps her. 

“What’d you do with your pants?” she teases. 

Travis rolls his eyes. “Burned them.” 

“Aw,” Patty says, “I liked them.” 

“Really.” 

She shrugs. “Sure,” she says, and then grins with all her teeth and continues, “Liked them better off, though.” 

Coots chokes on a laugh beside them. “That’s another twenty bucks, asshole!” 

Travis ignores him and smiles sunnily at Patty. He tilts his head up towards him and plants a kiss on her jaw, her hair tickling his ear. She’s going to need to cut it again soon if she wants to keep it this length; it’s already growing, curling around her ears and at the nape of her neck. 

“You wanna go out tonight?” he asks. 

“What? Like on a date?” she says with a glint in her eye. 

“Yep,” Travis says. “Not sure if you know this, but I’ve got a huge crush on you.” 

“Wow,” Patty says, “what a coincidence, because I kinda feel the same way.”

**Author's Note:**

> the playlist for this fic is just queen of the rodeo by orville peck. one of these days i will write another pairing.... i swear to GOD. [twitter](https://twitter.com/rusesdeguerre) | [tumblr](https://rusesdeguerre.tumblr.com/)


End file.
